Not real
by aangelhart
Summary: AU Challenge: What if Aeryn died on Dambada instead of Talyn John?


Impatiently  
  
Not Real.  
  
Challenge response from Sunshiner: What if Aeryn had died on Dam-ba-da instead of Talyn John? (I know, I know! But it was too good to pass up. Forgive me because I have sinned *sigh* Again)  
  
Link: http://home.cfl.rr.com/reminiscentbay/blog.html  
  
Disclaimers: Usual, just playing with them, I will return them in semi working order.  
  
Thanks: Expressive thanks goes to KernilCrash, without her help, this fic would probably have got stuck, her input, advice and in particular one part of the story, was invaluable. Thank you so much, I owe you BIG time.  
  
XXX  
  
Black tee, green tee, it didn't matter. D'Argo was right, as usual. So here you are, running around like a frellnik, trying hard, unsuccessfully to contain your excitement.  
  
Moya has been in contact with Talyn. They will be here any microt and you honestly can't wait. It's been too long and too hard. You're thinking that this will make up for it, will take away some of the self-doubt that's been rolling around in your head since forever.  
  
And that's when you find yourself standing in the cargo bay. Waiting. The pod is closed and your crewmates are jabbering in their excitement. You don't pay much attention; throw in the odd remark here and there. But your mind is in a nicer place; a place where Aeryn walks off the pod and into your arms.  
  
Your mind comes back with a jolt as the pod opens under a cloud of smoke and Rygel floats out.  
  
"Sparky! How you doin', man? Long time no see." You know your voice is pitched slightly higher than usual, but you don't care.  
  
"Yes, ah... good to see you too! But if anything is missing from my quarters, blood is going to spill." And he glides past you.  
  
Smiling, you say "Whatever." And allow your eyes to travel back to the pod.  
  
Crais is next down the ladder. You look him up and down, take a step back and state the obvious. "Crais."  
  
But he just stares at you, walking past. You feel a knot in your stomach and don't know why. Maybe it's the way he is looking at you, almost with sympathy. You shake the feeling away and return your gaze to the pod meeting your mirror image in the process.  
  
You try to keep the smile fixed in place. Try hard not to work out how the hell you are both gonna play this now that he has returned. So you say the first thing that comes to mind, "Now there's a familiar face." And almost laugh at the irony.  
  
Your reflection stares back walking slowly to stand in front of you. Blue eyes meet blue. And then he speaks, "Hello John."  
  
Your smile falters. It's been a while since anyone called you that. And now there are two. Will one be John, while the other stays Crichton? Will Aeryn decide on the nametags like she did the tees? With that thought, you nod and look past your other self searching for the final person who has yet to appear.  
  
You're aware that the other has walked away. Staring at his back your eyes twitch. Something is wrong, but it doesn't matter. There is another person more important that will put all the pieces back together again. And you shift your weight from one foot to the other while you wait.  
  
Your attention is drawn from the pod as Crais makes his presence felt, rather than heard. You take the two steps over to stand in front of him; speak with a voice that doesn't sound like your own, "What?" Something is wrong with the picture, and the cold feeling in your stomach suddenly becomes unbearable.  
  
"Uh, Aeryn. uh..she." Crais stutters, avoiding eye contact "Is dead."  
  
You feel the room spin lazily in slow motion, taking you with it as you hear the words, feel a pain slice through your body.  
  
No. This is not the way the reunion was meant to go. She would walk down the steps and everything would be okay. Everything would slide back into place.  
  
You hear the voices of the others you forgot were standing there. The gasp, the choke, and the strangled scream, all merging as one garbled voice. You shake your head and wonder how you came to be on your knees. How the floor seemed to have crept up on you while you weren't looking. Looking up you struggle to stand and shake off the arm that helps you. It only serves to make you take an unsteady step back.  
  
"Run that by me again." You say quietly, you have misheard, your translator microbes are on the fritz, he isn't here, your not there, and this isn't real.  
  
"She, she was hit with a fatal burst of radiation. She, she saved the wormhole technology so that John, the other John, could create one and destroy the scarren dreadnaught.." He stops then, waits for what, you're not sure.  
  
You take another step back, distancing yourself from Crais, from the crew who have began to walk forward, Jool with out stretched arms, and D'Argo with a look that replicates sheer shock.  
  
You wave them away. "No, no, no, this wasn't the way it was meant to be. You see, I come here, I meet Aeryn, we catch up on old times, we..." Your arms flounder while backing away more until the transport pod stops you from moving any further. Turning wildly you scramble up the steps. "Aeryn? Aeryn? Come on baby, if this was meant to yank my chain you did it." You try to joke, disappearing inside the pod.  
  
You're aware of the others talking all at once. Asking, shouting, screaming. You hear your name but ignore it. You have more pressing things to do. Find Aeryn. Find her and maybe just fly away, leave the others behind. Leave yourself behind. See how *he* likes it.  
  
But you can't find her. She isn't there, and you can't be here. But you play the game, calling until your voice is a hoarse whisper, and this time you know when you hit the floor. You know you're legs have buckled. Just like your mind. Everything seems to grow darker and you place your head to the cool floor, welcoming the cold touch. You don't cry, don't give in. To cry would make it real, and this isn't real. This *can't* be real.  
  
You don't know how long you've been there. You don't feel cold, tired, anything. The footsteps that lightly dance up the pod's walkway are familiar. But it's not Aeryn, its Chiana. You know that before she speaks.  
  
"H..hey." You hear her say, followed by a soft curse.  
  
You say nothing. Just pull yourself up into a sitting position, turning to face the Nebari.  
  
"I mean, I mean, you okay? No, I didn't mean.frell." She mutters and flops down beside you.  
  
You're eyes follow her movements, then take up a small point to her left. And you stare, saying nothing, doing nothing, *feeling* nothing.  
  
"Um, Crais, he told me, you know, told me what."  
  
"Don't Pip. I don't want to know okay?" You say, cutting her off.  
  
You feel her nod, because her hair brushes slightly over your face. She's moved closer but you hadn't noticed until now.  
  
"Okay." She answers, snaking an arm around your waist, pulling herself tighter to your chest.  
  
You automatically mirror the image. Autopilot works better for you. No need to think, to feel. So you sit there, hearing the muffled sob, you pull her head to your chest and stroke. Comfort her; forget what this is all about. *Don't think, don't act.*  
  
"Shhh, Chi, everything'll be okay. Shhhh." You say it over and over, until the sobbing subsides to a hiccup and you feel her pull back ever so slightly. She probably thinks you've lost it. But you haven't. Not yet.  
  
"Cr, Cr, Crichton?" She stutters, "Aer, Aeryn, she's.."  
  
You stop the conversation from doing damage to your shell of denial. "Shhh Pip, it's okay. Look, you better get back to the others. I better get.I have things.I should be doing something else." You say, and wonder just what the hell you *should* be doing.  
  
XXX  
  
You don't know how much time has past. You don't care. You don't even want to know how you managed to find your way through the tiers. Your feet following each other mindlessly until you're standing at the doors to your quarters. Sound returns, flooding back in and Moya sounds different some how and you can't figure out why. You step inside and someone is there. You're there. You're here. He's in your quarters, standing as though he belongs.  
  
He turns, holding a black overcoat, clutching it to his chest the way you would if you'd been there. "I, I, she left this for you . for us." A bag is dropped to the floor, kicked over to the bed.  
  
"Get out. I live here," you snarl. He'd taken everything that ever meant anything to you.  
  
"So do I."  
  
"You left. You don't belong here anymore."  
  
"This is my home too."  
  
"Your home is with ." You stop because the only place either of you can survive is the place were she is, and she isn't here anymore. He got to go with her. He should have protected her; saved her, brought her back . it's his fault. You look into his eyes and see your eyes, and the guilt is your own. "Get out."  
  
"These are my quarters," he tries again. "We have to try and make this work, for Aer."  
  
And that's all it takes to snap your controlled anger, because she's gone, he let her go, and it's his fault. Your knuckles make a hard smacking sound as they connect, hearing the same noise as he lashes back. Punch for punch, strike for strike, mirror images making the same choices. Same split lip, same bruised cheekbone, same gasping breath as you stumble backwards, lungs burning, blood dripping, arms aching.  
  
Your hands ache, but it's a better pain. You flex your fingers and enjoy the sharp pang because it's a discomfort you can understand and live with.  
  
"Feel better?" He asks, wiping the blood from his lip.  
  
"Fuck you." You growl, trying to swallow, but it seems to get stuck half way down. Blame him, blame yourself, the end result will be the same. "Why didn't you stop her?"  
  
He keeps his eyes on yours. "I, I tried, I, I was, there were Charrids, they."  
  
"You were supposed to take care of her! That's what you do." And stop the *we*, from slipping out. He was there; you were here, both in the wrong place at the wrong time.  
  
" It should have been you." You say  
  
"I know."  
  
"If I was there.."  
  
"She would have done the same thing. I've been over it a thousand times. Nothing would have changed."  
  
"Yes, yes it would've, because you see, I would've."  
  
He cuts you off, "Would've what? Tried to be in two places at once? Changed the whole goddamned thing? Don't you think I've thought of that? I have, I."  
  
"No!" You spit, because, you realise you're making this real. You're going to believe something that your mind can't yet comprehend. So you walk away.  
  
Your feet stumble through the groaning corridors, following a blind course, one without direction. Your legs suddenly feel heavy; leaning against the wall you close your eyes. Moya sounds different. Moya is mourning a loss. You've heard that sound before. "She can't, she can't be." You wont say the word, you wont show the emotion. You wont make this real.  
  
End 


End file.
